Weeping Angel
by Ryuusquall
Summary: On a bench, in a London subway, a boy sits, hunched up and crying." One-shot, set out like a free verse poem. Pease Read and Review!


**The inspiration for this short one-shot came to me late at night. That's when I get most of my best ideas and I make sure I always have my special notebook tucked away under my bed so that I can write these things down.**

**The inspiration for this came from a rather random source, an AMV for an anime I've never seen but have heard of. My friend made it, and since she is usually very good at this sort of thing, I watched it. One clip shows a man crying, and there was just something about it…**

**I snapped the frame and started tracing over it, and the next stage was turning the black/blue hair to blond. I haven't finished yet, but that's where this idea blossomed from.**

**And just incase your wondering, yes, I do know about the other weeping angels, the scary ones. They actually gave me a nightmare, which is odd since much scarier things have had no effect on me…**

**Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Sadly…**

On a bench, in a London subway, a boy sits, hunched up and crying.

Head in his hands, sobs racking his whole body.

But he's not a little lost boy.

He's a teenager.

It disturbs you.

Since when do guys cry, especially in public?

It hurts you.

The sight tugs at your heart strings painfully.

It worries you.

What could have possibly happened to cause him so much despair?

You want to help.

You want to help so much.

But he's a stranger.

Anyway, it's got nothing to do with you.

It's his problem, not yours.

You see a group of teenagers, his age or older, walk past.

Jeering at him.

Laughing at him.

Mocking him.

Something snaps inside.

Before you know it you are reaching into your pocket to pull out a packed of new tissues, while striding across the station floor.

Your hold your head up high.

Defiant.

Proud.

Scared.

Your panic.

You can't do this!

But you do it anyway.

"Hey." How soft your voice is.

So sympathetic.

So caring.

So nervous.

Like a flower unfurling, the teenager slowly lifts his head from his hands.

Below ruffled blond hair is a pale, scared face.

Haunting brown eyes, reddened by crying and bruised badly somehow, meet your own eyes.

There's so much pain there, so much anguish.

You can't help it, you glance away.

You glimpse curved lips, dried blood streaking down from one corner.

There more blood on his T-shirt too, you realize.

Oh dear Lord, what's going on here?

Your mouth speaks automatic words.

"Are you alright?"

Stupid question.

Of cause he's not!

You can see that…

He shakes his head.

You offer him a tissue.

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

Once again he shakes his head, his hair plastered to his face with sweat.

"Are you sure?

A problem shared is a problem halved, you know!"

Oh man, what are you, a cheesy agony aunt?

Still, it makes his bloody and swollen lips twitch into a smile despite the tears still tracing the contours of his cheekbones.

Forcibly he wipes them away with the tissue you gave him.

And this time he doesn't shake his head.

Over the next hour or so you will learn much you shouldn't know.

Much you wish you didn't know.

And much that will change your life forever.

You will go home a different person after this one act of random kindness.

This bravest thing you have ever done.

One day the Prime Minister will send you a 'personal' letter of thanks for all the years of amazing charity work you have done.

You will be asked what inspired you to do so much good with your life.

You will tell of a boy you once met.

But you will never tell the full truth though, or give them his name.

For no one must know what you know.

It's too dangerous.

And likewise, you must never know that that weeping boy.

That weeping angel with pale wings of dust and a halo of shattered dreams,

never made it through the night.

There are some truths that must never be known.

I'm sorry.

**Please review! (Though since It's just a crummy little one-shot, I know it won't get many…)**


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